Cusp of a New Day
by Madam Pudifoot
Summary: The usual gloom of Teague’s private chambers is tonight banished by the flickering of a solitary candle, lit solely for the purpose of relighting a worn walnut pipe. The sweet tang of smoke hangs heavy in the air...


Characters: Teague and Jack  
Disclaimer: It's a little depressing to know that a mouse owns more than I do, but alas, it is true. It ain't mine, I'm just playing in someone else's universe.  
AN: This was supposed to be a drabble. _Supposed to._ Written for mary684 at Livejournal for the prompt 'Kidnap'. Edited (there's a first time for everything!) by mary684. Title by mary684.

**Cusp of a New Day**

The usual gloom of Teague's private chambers is tonight banished by the flickering of a solitary candle, lit solely for the purpose of relighting a worn walnut pipe. The sweet tang of smoke hangs heavy in the air, while a neat mound of ganja lies on the table, unused, waiting for the night to grow steadily deeper.

Two bottles sit cattycorner on the scuffed oak table – rum, thick and sweetened with age, and whiskey, smooth and heady – opposing predilections, though neither find themselves lacking in attention.

Their owners are of similar divergences; one young and brash, the other aging and shrewd. Both men are sprawled leisurely atop a pile of brocade cushions, for once at ease in each other's company. Teague has never been partial to camaraderie, although the bonds of blood are too thick even for him to neglect.

These lethargic evenings are a privilege only recently granted to his son, although Teague doubts Jack has done quite enough to warrant them. He can't deny that he's come to enjoy (if not look forward to) the meetings, and Jack has been nothing but receptive to them; eagerly accepting it as another benefit of manhood.

The conversations are initially sparse, consisting of vague stories, passing comments and brief discussions, but as the weeks pass the tension fades, allowing father and son to begin to connect, sharing narratives, offering counsel and revealing glimpses of sincerity, solemnity and lightheartedness; expressions oftentimes concealed due to the nature of their position in society.

Pipe and liquor are offered freely, acknowledgment of Jack's fast approaching maturity. At first, the offerings are taken with some sense of trepidation – a boy not quite ready to stand level with his father, or a man well aware of the risks of trusting a pirate.

Teague notes that Jack drinks with far more confidence than he smokes, giving Teague all the more reason to suspect that the lad's errands to _The Flopping Fish_ aren't as vehemently disdained as Jack lets on; Mrs. McGill has never been particularly worried about her stocks, and has only grown more neglectful in her dotage.

As time passes, the two become comfortable with the routine, Jack going so far as to bring rum and opium – a far cry from the typical scotch and tobacco – suggesting that Teague stretch his limits on occasion. Teague accepts the contribution, choosing, for once, to ignore the boy's cheek.

On this particular night, a fog lingers in the corners of the room, swirling mists of insight and reflection, coaxing philosophy and ideology – creating scholars from even the simplest of fools. Both pundit for opposing views; one weighing the benefits of freedom against the constraints of morality, the other arguing _lex lata _versus _lex ferenda_, neither willing to concede a point, nor allow a flaw in judgment to go unnoticed.

Frustration mounts and tempers begin to flare, inherent pride keeping either from bending. Although Jack's disposition is by far more restrained, his views are too passionate to permit disagreement. He jadedly argues that men can't seek freedom when pirates are prone to make slaves of brethren and adversaries alike; for how could anyone dream of sovereignty when theft, murder and rape are ever-present aspects of life?

Teague patiently reminds his son of his naivety – explaining that sinners aren't born of poverty or despair, but are bred from contempt and ignorance – a rich man doesn't make for an honorable man.

Realizing that he has lost the battle, Jack then changes tactic, angrily demanding to know how any man can call himself wise and not regret past sins. The remark is met with amusement as Teague easily spots his son's intentions, contending that he never claimed astuteness nor sought to deny remorse.

Father and son both know that there will be no winner in this particular issue, but it does nothing to quell Jack's longing to best the Keeper of the Code. In a last ditch effort to expose some weakness in his father's acumen, Jack dares to question how a man could ever live peacefully without having contributed to some higher cause.

Teague regards the teen for a moment, mildly pleased that he's made the debate so easy, and yet disappointed in the boy's lack of forethought. Again, Teague explains, as if to a small child, that the benefits are far too great for any reasonable man to lament anything. He can see the fire burning in onyx eyes and knows that Jack's patience, great though it may be, is nearing its end. Teague can only laugh, though, as he waits for his son's tirade to pass.

The fierce words fall on deaf ears – Teague hears enough of it during his day and has little interest in being chastised in his own home. Fortunately for Jack, Teague's temper is kept in check with help of the narcotics, and the smoke weighs his bones down more than he'd care to admit. Instead of a heavy hand Teague opts to exploit Jack's fondness for fables, launching in to a tale of years passed.

Jack sits through the account, at times impatient, uncertain as to his father's meaning, but eventually Teague captures his attention, ensnaring the youth with a web spun of silk and gold, hot nights and clandestine encounters. Tonight there is no guitar to aid Teague; he finds that the poetry flows without its melodious charm.

Lust and pride make for the foundation of the story, built upon by deceit, manipulation, curiosity, and fate. Jack listens raptly as Teague tells of a young beauty gifted with everything a woman could hope for in life – money, a fine home, a suitable husband, and all the luxuries included – and of her disdain and contempt for all of it. He speaks of her desire to break away from the constraints of society – to live freely and without inhibition; a girl dreaming of Eden, nothing more.

He goes on, fondly telling of a foolhardy man who chanced upon her and vowed to take her for himself; stolen fidelity his lone venture. He'd beguiled her with tales of distant lands, where all who sought freedom found it in the whisper of the sea. A place where men and women, light skinned and dark, held the same promise of independence – it was simply a matter of taking what you could and offering nothing in return.

He'd hardly expected for her to see past his charade of compassion; least of all anticipated that a pampered Raja's daughter would think to call him on the deception. What would any man in his position do? So he took her, vowed to take her away from the turmoil of her land, all the while scheming to mold her into the image of the queen of thieves – her chains, the loyalty of her brethren.

She'd made all the more a fool of him, quickly recognizing his philosophical waxings and exorbitant gifts as sly attempts to charm and gain her trust. Although she was younger by many years, she still had the prudence to see his ploys for what he so ardently denied them to be: shoddy attempts at courtship.

Neither found themselves willing to bend – he insisted she was nothing more than a prize, and she contested that he'd lost his heart to the one woman he could never have. Realizing that the declaration was a challenge, he threw caution to the wind, his final act of desperation an ultimatum – the freedom she craved, or marriage to the one person who could ever see her as an equal.

Her choice made, the fool let her go, the sting of rejection overwhelming for the self-righteous captain. The simple display of integrity was enough for the woman to hesitate in her decision, uncertain as to what constituted for a gentleman. She weighed the facts, carefully trying to discern whether morality was absolute and without exception, or if virtue was simply a matter of perspective.

Her final days as captive were spent in solitude, secluded from distraction and bias, and when the ship finally made port at her place of preference, she refused to leave, demanding that the pirate make good on his word.

Teague draws a close on the story, ending not in wedding bells and bliss, but rather ship bells and tumult. His ruminations are interrupted as Jack belligerently begs for some sense of closure or moral, frustrated with his father's circumbendibus narrative.

Teague is more than a little surprised that Jack doesn't think to name him a charlatan – the boy has heard the story of his parent's meeting more times than Teague can court; a tale of the perfect romance - love at first sight, devoted courtship, and vows of eternity spent together. But Teague knows his son would never dream of his mother as anything short of a saint, and he has little interest in leading Jack to believe otherwise. Not all truths need be voiced.

At the boy's behest, Teague scathingly advises his son to learn the ways of the world, and not squander his life hoping to achieve nirvana through petty acts of selflessness. Life is too short to spend waiting for karmic rewards; only the wise know the importance of seizing every opportunity presented, treating each hardship and fortune as sacred – for what is man without experience?

The only thing to regret in life is regret itself.

* * *

_Lex lata: _The law as it is

_Lex ferenda: _The law as it should be


End file.
